What Is And What Should Never Be
by letmefallasleep
Summary: An A/U fic focused around the McQuaid brothers. Warnings for child abuse, torture, and drug use. R&R? Rated 'T' for now, rating may go up later.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Yes, yes, another story... With many I haven't finished or updated... So sue me, I was bored... Anyways...

This is an A/U fic, focusing on the McQuaid brothers.

Warnings: Torture, extreme child abuse, drug use, etc.

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><p>Sixteen year old Tommy McQuaid groaned as the sun cast a ray of light directly in his face.<p>

"What time is it?" Came the muttering voice of his older brother Doug.

"Too damn early," Tommy snorted, slowly climbing out of bed. "Come on; Jack'll be home soon."

Doug muttered under his breath as he sat up, yawning as he stretched. "When the hell is he goin' back on second shift? Him bein' home all the time freakin' sucks."

Tommy shrugged as he made his way to the dresser. "Does it matter?"

"Eh… I guess not." Doug's face hardened as his brother stripped his shirt off, revealing the younger McQuaid's torn up back. "I uh… You gonna be okay?"

Tommy shrugged again, the movement causing the cuts on his back to ripple grotesquely, making Doug wince.

"I'll be fine, Doug. Leave it alone," Tommy said in a tone that left no room for more conversation. "Come on. We gotta get outta here."

Doug sighed dejectedly as he started getting dressed.

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><p>Doug slowed his walk to match his brother's limp as they made their way to the bus. Each boy had a Marlboro in their hands.<p>

Dough looked over at his brother. It was obvious that he was in pain, from the look on his face, to his left arm that he cradled to his chest, to the way he walked.

But even with that, Tommy looked deadlier than Doug ever would.

Not that Doug looked _soft_ by any means; he just looked like a typical high school bad ass. As such, Doug routinely had to deal with _other_ high school bad-asses.

Tommy though… Tommy looked like he would rather kill someone than look at them. Not too many people messed with Tommy McQuaid.

He hadn't always been like that. Doug remembered a time when they were younger, when Tommy had been the soft one. The kid who cried all through Bambi. Then Jack showed up, and now Tommy was the guy everyone was afraid of.

"Let's go, guys, I ain't got all day!" The bus driver yelled impatiently.

Doug flipped the older man the bird, as Tommy slowly made his way onto the bus. The two teenagers moved to the back of the bus, where Tommy stopped in front of what looked to be a freshman sitting the last seat.

"Move," He said curtly. The kid opened his mouth like he was gonna argue, but apparently thought better of it when he seen the look on Tommy's face.

Doug let out a sigh of relief as the kid scrambled past them, and Tommy plopped down in the seat, putting his head sets on, and blaring Slayer through his walkman. Doug sat down in the seat opposite of his brother, and watched in concern as Tommy curled up against the window, eyes slowly closing.

It'd been a rough weekend. Doug knew his younger brother was suffering from cracked ribs, and a sprained wrist and ankle at the very least. Not to mention the damage Jack had done to Tommy's back with his belt.

He glowered at the thought of his step-father. Marie McQuaid had divorced the boys' father when they were six and five, and married Jack Bugliosi eight months later. It hadn't taken very long for the honeymoon to end, and within a few months after the wedding, Marie's boys had learned that Jack had a mean temper, and fists like bricks. He'd never actually hit Marie, but she didn't stop him from 'disciplining' her boys as the two adults called it.

Both boys had been on the receiving end of Jack's temper, but for some reason, the one-time Marine had beat on Tommy more often than Doug. Maybe it was Tommy's size; the smaller McQuaid stood barely 5'7, and weighed in at a little over a hundred and forty pounds, compared to Doug's six foot, one hundred and eighty pound frame, or Jack's 6'4", two hundred and fifty pounds.

Whatever the reason, Jack Bugliosi seemed to take particular pleasure in beating the living hell out of Tommy. After three years with Jack, eight-year old Tommy had went from being exuberant, outspoken, friendly child, to the quiet, reserved kid who jumped whenever someone looked at him. By age twelve, Tommy had turned into a ghost of his former self, seemingly running through life on autopilot.

Then at thirteen, Tommy was introduced to drugs by a friend from school. Within a few months, he'd become hard… Cold.

Hell, maybe it wasn't the drugs, Doug thought. Maybe Tommy had just gotten tired of getting his every emotion, his every flaw, thrown in his face. Maybe he decided he just didn't care about Jack anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Yay for multiple postings this week!

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><p>Tommy could feel his brother's worried gaze, even with his eyes closed.<p>

The death metal pounding in his ears was starting to ease some of the tension, and he slowly relaxed in the seat, letting himself feel the pain that seemed to be coursing through his entire body. After he got off the bus, he wouldn't be able to do that; once he stepped foot onto school grounds, he had to block the pain out, keep it hidden. Otherwise the kids at school would smell blood, and gather for the attack.

His arm was the worst, although his back came in a close second. He was pretty sure he'd dislocated his shoulder, maybe sprained the wrist, or possibly had a hairline fracture. Popping the shoulder back into joint would be painful, but do-able. The wrist would be a little tougher to fix. He didn't think he could make it through gym class with his back, so going to the nurse without that excuse was out of the question.

Going to the nurse period was out of the question, when he thought about it. Anything she would have to do to check his arm would require him to take his shirt off; and he sure as hell didn't have a good excuse for his back being torn to shreds.

He mentally scoffed. Wasn't a 'good' excuse for any of it. Was no excuse period. 'My step-father beat the hell outta me 'cause the damn dog was barkin' too loud' might have been the truth, but that didn't make it any more of an excuse. Much less one that he'd tell the nurse.

He bit back a yelp as the bus hit a pothole, before trying to resettle himself into the seat. It was gonna be a long day.

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><p>Deborah Whitney was concerned.<p>

Tommy McQuaid was in two of her classes, his normal pre-algebra class (which he was taking for the second time), and her Math Assistance class.

He was never any trouble for her; oh she'd heard the horror stories from the other teachers, warning her about 'those McQuaid boys… Especially the younger one', but she'd never had a problem with him. In fact, she was almost inclined to say Tommy was her favorite student. She'd only had Doug for a study hall, so she couldn't attest to him, but Tommy was a good kid.

Part of it was that no other teacher had ever taken the time to get to know him. Deborah always went out of her way to include Tom in the class, and he frequently stayed after school with her, where the two of them would spend the forty-five minutes before the three o'clock buses arrive talking about any number of things.

He was surprisingly intelligent for his age; he could discuss politics, economics, history, or the great writers of the time with ease, although she would admit the poor thing had no head for numbers whatsoever.

She didn't know a lot about his home life, but she could guess that it wasn't exactly an idyllic setting. He was careful about what he said, but every now and then he let more slip than he intended. She knew his mother was rarely home, working a part time job, and going to night school for a business management course or something like that. She knew that his step-father –Jack, if she recalled correctly –was a very strict, ex-military sort.

She had her suspicions of course; if she'd been a betting woman, she would have set money down on the fact that Tommy's step-father abused him in some way. But anytime she asked him about it, Tommy would deny it, and change the subject. And then she wouldn't see him for a few days.

But that particular Monday, she knew something was seriously wrong. The weather was relatively warm, and yet he wore a long sleeve shirt underneath his tee shirt, and a heavy jacket over that. His face had faint traces of bruising underneath his eye. He kept shifting in his seat, grimacing, as if he was trying to find a position that didn't hurt.

Most telling of all, the left-handed boy had struggled through her class, trying to write with his right hand, keeping his left close to his chest.

She sighed, pulling her glasses off, and rubbing at her temples. She had a free period, and she was supposed to be grading the test papers from the last class, but her heart just wasn't into it. The thought of Tommy, face tight with pain, struggling to write, shifting around, kept flashing in her mind.

She'd brought her suspicions to the principal, but the man had told her that her caring was misplaced; there were students who deserved her attentions, and the McQuaid boys weren't among them. Whatever problems Thomas had, he'd told her, was probably brought on himself, and well-deserved.

She still fumed to remember it. She'd talked to the school nurse, and Mrs. Britton –who was a sweet hearted older woman –had confirmed her suspicions, telling her some of the injuries Tom had came to her with. Of course, he always had a ready excuse: he'd fallen down the stairs, he'd tripped in gym class, he'd gotten in a fight… The list went on.

But the two women felt powerless. Without Tommy saying anything, or the principal to back them, there was nothing they could do. Calling Child Services wouldn't do anything; without Tommy admitting to the abuse, nothing would be done.

She sighed again as the bell rang. A few moments later, students began piling into the room, and she forced herself to smile at them, to say hello, and act as if nothing was wrong.

She wanted to hurl at the injustice of it all.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Yes, short update. I'm working on a ton of stories right now, and trying to update them all around the same time.

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><p>After school, Mrs. Whitney ran to the bathroom, and then to the teacher's lounge to grab a cup of coffee. She knew Tommy would be waiting for her at her classroom, and she didn't want to make him wait too long. She knew how skittish Tommy could get; he wouldn't want people knowing that he stayed after with her. Wouldn't want them to know that he actually hung around, without detention.<p>

So she was moving quickly as she turned the corner to the hallway that lead to her classroom, distracted by her thoughts.

But as she got closer, she realized that Tommy wasn't there.

At first, she blew it off. Maybe she'd left the door unlocked, and Tommy had decided to wait inside. But when she stepped inside the classroom, and there was no Tommy, she started getting worried. Tommy _always_ stayed after with her.

She decided to check in the cafeteria where detention was usually held; maybe he'd received a detention at some point. She highly doubted it, since she had arranged with most of the teachers to have private detentions with him, since none of the other teachers wanted to deal with him anyways, but she really couldn't think of another reason he wouldn't be at her classroom.

She walked down to the cafeteria, and took a quick glance around. She didn't see Tom, but she did see his older brother Doug bent over doing homework. She walked over, and tapped him on the shoulder.

The hulking teenager spun around, fist drawn back, and Deborah took a step back, before the boy seen who she was, and relaxed a bit.

"Sorry, Mrs. Whitney; what's up?" He asked cautiously.

"Doug, do you know where Tommy went? He was supposed to stay after school with me."

Doug stood up instantly. "He didn't show up? He told me to meet him out front for the three o'clock buses."

Just then, Mr. Walsh, the library teacher who did after school detention most days, walked over to them. "Excuse me, Deb, but I saw Thomas earlier. Mr. Potter seen him hanging by your room after class and told him he had to go home. Thomas told him he was waiting for you, but Mr. Potter insisted that he leave. Told him he couldn't just 'lounge' around. I seen him walk Thomas to the bus."

"Are you serious?" Doug asked, throwing his books into his bag, and running out of the cafeteria.

"Mr. McQuaid, come back here! You're in detention!" Mr. Walsh called after him.

Deborah turned to look at him. "I'll give him detention with me tomorrow; this is a family emergency," She said quickly, before following the boy out.

"Douglas! Doug, wait!" She called, chasing after him in the parking lot.

"No, I gotta get home, Mrs. Whitney," Doug yelled back.

"I'll take you in my car," She said, holding up and jingling her keys.

Doug reversed instantly, and they both took off towards her car.

"Take a left here," Doug said anxiously. They'd been in the car for about ten minutes, and neither one of them had spoken until then.

"Where then?" Deborah asked, glancing at the boy. His nervousness was obvious; he was almost twitching.

"Just take a left, and pull over; I'll walk the rest of the way to my house."

"Doug, if something's going on, if your brother needs help…" She said quietly as she pulled the car over, leaving her sentence hanging.

"Please, Mrs. Whitney… I've gotta go," Doug said anxiously, as he started to get out of the car.

"Doug, wait!"

"Mrs. Whitney, I gotta –"

"Here," She said as she handed him a slip of paper. "It's my number. You call if you need anything, you understand?"

Doug nodded, before closing the car door, and running down the street.


	4. NOTICE

Hey, everyone… bad news. Life has been hectic lately, and with my son's birthday, my birthday, my husband's birthday, Thanksgiving, and Christmas all coming up, not gonna any less hectic any time too soon. Plus, I've had some serious writer's block lately anyways… I've tried writing, but everything just comes out crappy, and stiff.

So. After much consideration, and thought, I've decided to take a hiatus. No less than two months, no more than four. I'm sorry to all of my readers and reviewers, and I didn't come to this decision easily. I've struggled with it for quite a while, while at the same time attempting to write, and I've decided that you guys deserve my best, not some crappy, sloppily written, stiff sounding piece of junk I threw up.

I apologize again, but I'm going to make an attempt to write, and finish at least a few stories in that time frame. Hopefully erasing the pressure to post will ease up on the writer's block, and I'll be back to my eerily depressing, torture/angst goodness soon.

I understand if many of you quit reading my stories, or decide not wait for me to come back. I completely understand that, and in all honesty, I would probably do the same thing. But to those of you who decide to wait, I appreciate it, and I promise I won't disappoint any more than I already have.

Thank you,

letmefallasleep


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Yes, um... really, nothing much to say, other than I know this isn't a great chapter, but it will get better. I have more made for each story I have, but I won't be posting again until next Sunday... So you shall just have to wait... MWUAHAHAHA... *cough cough* yes, um... anyways.

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><p>Tom wasn't sure what had set his step-father off; his memory was getting a little hazy. The trip down the basement stairs, and the steel-toed boot to the head were probably contributing to that.<p>

He groaned as another one of Jack's kicks connected with ribs, flipping him from his protected position, to where he was lying flat on his back. Whatever he'd done, it'd really got the old man's hackles up.

He glanced around the room for the clock. Three something, he was pretty sure it read. Hard to tell for sure, since both of his eyes were almost swollen shut.

Despite his determination to remain as quiet as possible, a scream tore from his throat as his step-father stomped on the left side of his chest.

_Please, Doug… Get home…_ Was his last conscious thought.

It was almost seven o'clock. Six fifty three, to be exact.

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><p>And Deborah could be exact. She'd been staring at the damn thing ever since she'd gotten home, waiting for her phone to ring.<p>

She would like to think that her not getting a phone call was a good thing. But she highly doubted it. Doug's reaction to hearing about his brother going home early confirmed her worst fears.

So she'd raced straight home after dropping the older McQuaid brother off, and sat down at the kitchen table, staring at the phone and the clock alternatively.

She'd tried grading some papers; that had lasted all of about ten minutes. Her impatience, and constant staring at the two devices on the wall had required all her concentration. So she'd just sat. Twiddling her thumbs, telling herself that she was wrong. Telling herself that there was a logical, benign explanation for Doug's behavior. For Tommy's behavior.

Telling herself that she was wrong to be worried. That Tommy would show up in class tomorrow with that cocky smile of his.

But she couldn't stop staring at the damn phone.

When it finally did ring, it's obnoxious sound shattered the silence in the house like a sledge hammer. She actually froze for a moment, before jumping up, tripping over the table in her haste to get to it.

She picked it up with a hoarse, "Hello?"

"Mrs. Deborah Whitney?" A female voice asked.

"Yes, I'm Mrs. Whitney."

"Mrs. Whitney, this is Barbara Meyers from St. Jude's hospital. We're calling on behalf of… Thomas and Douglas McQuaid?"

"Oh my God. What happened? Are they alright?" She asked anxiously, grabbing her jacket off the back of the kitchen chair, and fishing in the pockets for her keys.

"Douglas is fine; he actually brought his brother in. Refused to tell us his parents' names. He just asked us to call you."

"And Tommy?"

The nurse's hesitation told Deborah everything she needed to know. She didn't even wait for a response, just barked out a quick, "I'll be right there," before hanging up the phone, and bolting out the door.


End file.
